By the third day, the town itself felt wrong. The sky was always overcast, but never rainy. The streets looked identical no matter which way she turned. Rina noticed people staring at her for a moment too long—then looking away with the same rehearsed grin. Like they were trying too hard to act human.
At school, her classmates had started repeating themselves. Word for word. Same jokes. Same laughter. When she bumped into a girl in the hallway and apologized, the girl replied with a frozen smile, "That's okay, Rina. We're all friends here," three times in a row. No change in tone. No blinking.
During math class, Rina raised her hand. The teacher didn't call on her. He just stared. His eyes didn't move. His smile didn't fade. She slowly lowered her hand and noticed his fingers twitching under the desk like he was holding something back.
That night, she ran her fingers along the crack in her bedroom wall. It had grown. It now stretched from floor to ceiling. Behind it, she could hear breathing—like someone pressed their face to the other side.
She opened Mika's notebook again. More pages had appeared. Fresh ink.
> "They are not people. They are masks."
"Once they smile at you too long, they've already taken your name."
Rina glanced at the mirror. For a split second, her reflection didn't smile with her. It just stared—expressionless.
When she arrived at school the next day, a new girl was standing in the hallway. The others greeted her like they'd known her for years. Rina tried to introduce herself.
"I'm Rina—"
The girl interrupted her.
"No. I'm Rina."
The hallway went silent. Everyone turned toward her with wide, aching grins.
Rina backed away slowly, her voice trembling. "What are you talking about? I'm—"
The teacher stepped into view. Smiling. Always smiling.
"Let's not argue over names," he said calmly. "You can both be Rina. For now."